Fame is a FourLetter Word
by owlcroft
Summary: Mark attracts a fan club and decides to get back into racing.  The judge threatens the fan club with a shotgun.


This story includes characters created by people other than me. On the other hand, there are a few in here that are totally original.

A/N: "Fame" was originally published in the STAR for Brian's first CDzine, "Pastiche A Trois". To all who donated and received the 'zine as a thank-you, this story is gratefully dedicated.

FAME IS A FOUR-LETTER WORD

by

Owlcroft

Mark McCormick pulled another birthday card from its slot. "Happy Birthday, Little Boy! Hope your day is full of joy!" _Yecch! _He hastily returned it and searched for another possible. _Aha! Here's a whole section called 'From Both of Us'! _A brightly-colored floral bouquet caught his eye on one. _"Happy Birthday, from both of us". That looks harmless enough. _He opened the card and found a two-page poem in ornate script. _Oh, __man__. Sappy-city. No, wait! This is perfect!_ He turned toward the cash register at the drug store and bumped right into a blonde, teenaged girl who looked vaguely familiar.

"Oooh, 'scuse me," she cooed.

"Uh, sorry. Didn't see you." Since she seemed rooted to the spot, he edged past her politely.

While waiting in line at the register, Mark addressed the envelope to Aggie Wainwright in San Rio Blanco and wrote inside the card, "Hardcastle picked this card out. Love, Mark".

He dropped the card in the mailbox just outside the drug store and glanced up to find the young blonde standing next to the Coyote, this time with two of her friends along.

"Hi," she said brightly. "I'm Ashley Anderson. Remember me?"

"Yeah, sure. We met at the potluck picnic at Mrs. Hendry's." He smiled at the other two girls, both blonde and both giggling.

"Oh." Ashley turned to her friends. "This is Amber and this is Autumn." She raised her chin proudly. "We're the Straight A's."

"Ah, so you're really good at school?" McCormick suppressed a grin.

"Oh, no! We're not very good at school at all." She shook her head emphatically and the others followed suit. "It's just that all our names start with "A". See, I'm _Ashley_ and she's_ Amber_ and that's _Autumn_. Straight A's. Get it?"

"Yeah, that's cute. Straight A's." Mark looked around for help, but the street was fairly deserted. "Um, it was very nice to meet you, Amber, Autumn. And nice to see you again, Ashley, but I gotta get back to fix lunch for Judge Hardcastle. If he isn't fed on time, he gets testy."

"Oh," Amber spoke for the first time, twisting her hands together. "We were hoping you could tell us about your racing career."

Autumn looked up at him winsomely and smiled. "Please? Ashley's brother told us you're a professional race-car driver and this . . ." she patted the Coyote's hood gently, "is your race car." She gazed at him pleadingly.

McCormick looked around at the three and tried to remember the last time anyone had shown an interest in his racing career.

ooooo

"Where the hell've _you _been? It's twelve-thirty!" Hardcastle glared at McCormick from behind his desk in the den.

"Yeah, I'm late. Sorry about that," Mark threw over his shoulder as he strode down the hall. "Lunch in ten, okay?"

Hardcastle got grumpily to his feet and followed into the kitchen. "I know what happened. You got side-tracked by a pretty girl and forgot all about the time, right?" he growled.

"Nope. _Three _pretty girls." McCormick pulled his head out of the refrigerator long enough to smile smugly, then went back to condiment selection.

"Yeah, right. Hey, the other mustard, not that brown stuff! Three pretty girls, huh? And I suppose they were all blonde and tanned with those cobalt eyes you're always raving about and wearing those tight shorts and t-shirts?"

McCormick grabbed a knife from the drawer and the bread from the breadbox. "Yep. Well, I don't know about the eyes, actually. Hand me that onion, will ya? They were exactly what you're picturing except for about ten years younger." He paused briefly to check out the judge's reaction. "Not a one of them over sixteen."

"Ya know what we called girls like that when _I _was a kid, don't ya? San Quentin quail. Bet you can figure that one out." Hardcastle played with a piece of lettuce. "Or jail bait. You wanna stay away from that, kiddo. Nothing but trouble."

"Oh, come on, Judge. One of them was Ashley Anderson; daughter of our friendly neighbor, Phil. She recognized me and her brother had said something about me being a racer and she wanted her friends to meet me. That's all." Mark licked mustard off his thumb.

"Yeah, so," Hardcastle looked around and grabbed a paper towel, handing it to McCormick meaningfully, "you spent half an hour gabbing with three teenagers? I'm not buying it."

"But these were the Straight A's! Ashley, Amber and, um . . . Autumn." Mark grinned at the judge's expression.

"I remember when girls had names like Carol and Susan and Mary. Nowadays, they all sound like starlets or strippers. I'm surprised you didn't meet Tiffany or Muffin or Candy or Fawn."

"Nah, those names don't start with A." Mark reached across for the lettuce the judge had scattered over the counter. "They said they really liked this one girl named Larissa, but she wouldn't let them drop the 'L' and call her Arissa instead." Mark made his _hmmp_ noise and took two plates from the upper cabinet.

"Feather brains." Hardcastle shook his head. "Kids today. I can tell ya --"

"Please don't. Here, take these." McCormick led the way to the small kitchen table, snagging a bag of Fritos on the way. "They were actually kind of fun to talk to. They wanted to hear all about my racing career and if I'd won any trophies and what was the fastest I'd ever gone."

"Proves my point," said the judge. He picked up his sandwich and suddenly remembered to ask, "Hey, you get a nice card for Aggie? Something not too sloppy, but . . . you know, _nice_? You got it mailed and everything? I don't want her to think I . . . _we _forgot her birthday."

"Yeah, I got the perfect card. It said 'from the two of us' and had a few words inside about birthdays being happy or something." McCormick took an enormous bite and made his _hmmp_ noise again.

ooooo

The next morning, Judge Hardcastle stepped onto his front stoop and inspected the sky. It was six o'clock and looked like it was going to be another beautiful day. As he bent to pick up the morning paper, a flash of movement to the right caught his attention.

_What the . . .? Way too early to be McCormick up and around._ He edged cautiously back into the house and into the den for his shotgun. He quickly padded barefoot through the house and quietly out the back door. Stealthily, he crept past the garage and peeked around the corner. Nothing. He craned his head to look to the east of the palm trees and saw a flash of color. Bright pink. A smothered giggle was his next clue.

Sighing disgustedly, he broke the shotgun open and stomped toward the gatehouse. "All right, you can come out into the open," he yelled. When no one appeared, he raised his yell to a bellow, "I want you outta there right _now_!"

Three sheepish teenagers sidled out from behind the boxwood at the corner of the basketball court. "We, um, we . . . we were just, um, we were--"

"Knock it off, Hardcase! It's six o'clock in the damn morning!" shouted an irate and bleary-looking McCormick from the upper window. "Whoops!" He ducked back suddenly, having realized they had female company and he was not properly attired to receive guests. In fact, he was not attired at all.

More giggles, then the original speaker tried again to explain. "We have an hour before we have to leave for school and we thought maybe Mark could show us some of his racing trophies and ribbons and stuff. He said he always has to be up really, really early to do his chores for you and we thought, well, maybe . . ." She batted her eyelashes at the judge to see if that would help. It didn't.

"I'm Ashley Anderson. You remember me?" She smiled charmingly and nudged her friends. They smiled charmingly, too. "You're Judge Hardcastle."

"I know that," he said in a saccharine tone. "And I know who you are and that this must be Autumn and, ah, Amaryllis."

"Amber," the slightly shorter blond chirped.

"Of course, Amber. Well, it's too early to arrest ya for trespassing, so we'll just treat this as a --"

"Judge, wait!" A disheveled McCormick made his appearance.

All three girls waved him a tiny wave and smiled him a glowing smile.

"Ah, hi, ladies. Judge, these are the girls I met in town yesterday." He held out a pleading arm to Hardcastle. "I'm sure they didn't mean to --"

"Cut it out," said the judge in a irritated tone. "I'm not sending the neighbors' kids to juvie at six in the morning. What would the charge be? Criminal infatuation?" He smiled patronizingly at the three blonde mice. "Now, I think it would be a good idea for you girls to head home and get the leaves and twigs and stuff out of your hair before school. Okay?"

The Straight A's murmured "yes, sir" and slowly walked past McCormick toward the driveway. Amber tripped on the curb, her eyes fastened on Mark's hastily tied bathrobe. The judge sighed.

As the girls made their snail's-pace progress toward the gate, Mark frowned at them, then looked at Hardcastle's expression and hung his head sheepishly. "I didn't know they were gonna show up here," he offered hesitantly.

"Yeah, I figured. If you'd been stupid enough to 'invite' them, you'd've had 'em in the gatehouse with ya." The judge made little shooing motions at the last one past the gate. "They're harmless, helpless and hopeless." _Not bad_, he thought, _I could use that line again sometime. Meanwhile, I can't let him off the hook that easy. _"But you gotta take some responsibility here, too. You didn't exactly _discourage_ them yesterday, did ya?"

"No," sighed McCormick. "I guess not. It was just so . . . _flattering_ that somebody would be interested in me, in me as a racer. Short as my career was," he added balefully. "Hey! How'd they get in through the gate?" Mark put his hands on his hips and glared at the judge. "You forgot to set the alarm last night, didn't you."

Hardcastle scratched his head with the hand not holding the shotgun. "Nope. I set it as soon as you came over here. Must've been the damn paper boy again." He shook his head in exasperation. "I'll call 'em again after breakfast. Speaking of that, since you're up," he gestured toward the bathrobe, "get yourself dressed and we'll have breakfast." Turning back to the house, he started whistling, "Come On-a My House".

McCormick made a face behind his back and went to get dressed.

ooooo

Mark crept cautiously out of his front door the next morning, scanned the lawn and sighed in relief. Hardcastle had been greatly amused by the 'fan club' and had not spared the humorous remarks.

"You could start a day care center, kiddo. Make a little extra dough. You can do your chores while the girls are down for their naps." "Girls that age like teddy bears, kiddo. Don't go spending a lot on jewelry for 'em. A nice barrette or maybe a coloring book would do." _Very funny, Hardcase_, thought Mark bitterly. _I didn't ask for this. All I did was spend ten minutes being friendly and now I'm a cradle-snatcher. _

He peeked around the corner of the garage at the patio and was dismayed to see a blonde teenager staring hopefully back at him. He sighed, pasted on a smile and went to see if he could get rid of her before the judge came out for breakfast.

"Hi, Mark!" she said brightly. "I brought you some muffins. I'm taking Home Ec, you know. I'm really good at it, too. I get C's all the time!"

"Ah, gee, thanks, um," he tried frantically to remember if this was Amber or Autumn, "a lot."

"Oh, it was no trouble. The box said they were blueberry muffins. I hope you like that kind," she gazed at him hopefully.

McCormick tried to remember the last time he'd had muffins from a mix and couldn't. "I'm sure they'll be terrific, but Judge Hardcastle is due out here any minute and I think it would be a good idea if he didn't find you here. You see," Mark leaned close to her and lowered his voice, "he doesn't like me to have many visitors. He's a real slave driver, thinks people coming over keep me from my chores, you know? So, I really, _really_ appreciate the muffins and I'm sure they're just wonderful, but I know you have to get to school and understand why you can't stay --"

"Oh, Mark," she breathed worshipfully, "can I be honest with you?"

_No, please. __Please __don't be honest with me_, he thought in despair.

"We've got kind of a bet about you and I told Ashley and Amber that I'd be the one you went out with first and . . . oh, Mark, there's a dance tonight at school and I was hoping we could go together and maybe you could pick me up in the Coyote?" she finished with a rush.

Mark was framing a gentle way to turn down her invitation when a voice came from the back door.

"Sure, he'd be glad to take ya!" The judge grinned at McCormick. "You got nothing going on tonight and a dance sounds like a lotta fun. It's time you had a night off!"

"Ah, Judge," Mark cast a hunted glance at Autumn, "actually, tonight I was going to, ah . . . change the fan belt on the 'Vette."

"Nah, you can do that tomorrow. You go to the dance with Amber --"

"Autumn!" she piped up.

"Autumn, and have a good time. But be back by eleven," he wagged an admonitory finger. "Oh, look. Muffins!"

ooooo

The judge chuckled every time he remembered McCormick's glares and grumbles. _Bet he's back by nine-thirty_. He checked his watch and found it to be quarter past ten. _Huh, missed the first part of the early news. _Hardcastle put his paperwork away and went to his chair in front of the television. _He'll be back any minute now, fuming and fussing. Getting stirred up is good for him, and it's funny as hell, too._

By ten past midnight, the judge was finding it not quite as amusing. He was starting to wonder what Autumn's last name was and if he should call her parents when he heard the mutter of the Coyote as it rounded the fountain and stopped in front of the steps.

"Hey, Judge! I'm ho-ome!" called McCormick as he bounced into the house.

"And it's about time, too," groused Hardcastle. "Where ya been anyway? It's after midnight!"

"Well, the dance didn't end 'til just a little while ago, and then I had to take Autumn home." Mark was shrugging out of his jacket. " Aw, were you worried?" He grinned cheekily. "What, did you think I got lost or kidnapped or something?"

"What I _thought _was that maybe you were doing something stupid up on Lover's Lane with a fifteen-year-old!" The judge glared at the younger man, then sniffed disparagingly.

"Judge! I'm _shocked_! Don't you trust me?" McCormick plopped onto the couch and leaned back comfortably. "And besides, she's _sixteen_."

"Listen, wise guy. That's old enough to be legally married in some states. And it wasn't you I was worried about, it was _her_." Hardcastle grumbled a little more, then settled back into his chair and put Johnny Carson on mute. "You're pretty perky for a guy who's just been to a high school hop."

Mark raised his eyebrows and said, "As it happens, I had a great time." He chuckled at the judge's incredulous expression. "Really. There was a teacher there who's a big race fan, I'm taking him to meet E.J. tomorrow, and we spent the whole time talking about racing and cars and some of the kids joined in and we had a lot of fun. I even danced with each one of the Straight A's."

"Oh, yeah? I can just see you doing the frug, or was it the Watusi?" Hardcastle wiggled his shoulders suggestively.

"Actually, I found a couple of records one of the chaperons had brought and I taught everybody how to waltz." McCormick lifted his chin and said with dignity, "It was quite popular." Then he grinned again and added, "Especially with the grown-ups."

"Huh." Judge Hardcastle sat a moment in thought. "So you had a good time. Well, good. Good. So, you're taking this guy to meet E.J. That's great."

"Yeah." Mark put his head behind his head. "He's been a race fan for years. You want to hear a coincidence? He was actually _at _the race in Nashville where I was second by a bumper. Can you believe that?"

"Nashville? You came in second? I don't remember hearing about that one."

McCormick smiled slightly. "Maybe because you never asked," and rose to go to the kitchen.

ooooo

The next morning, Mark didn't appear at breakfast. But Ashley did. As soon as he'd gotten rid of her, relatively politely, the judge went to the gatehouse.

"McCormick! Hey, McCormick!" He tried the knob, but the front door was locked.

"Wait a minute," called Mark from inside. The knob clicked, the door opened slightly and he whispered, "Are you alone?"

Hardcastle looked at him from under lowered brows. "I am _now_. Open the damned door."

Mark sighed and beckoned him in. "Which one was it this time?"

"Ashley. And she brought zucchini bread. I _hate _zucchini bread. I don't even like the _Aunts' _zucchini bread. I threw it out as soon as she'd gone."

"Now, Judge," admonished McCormick, "you know we don't waste food."

"Zucchini bread isn't food and you can pull it apart and give it to the gulls if you want." The judge noticed a bowl of half-finished cereal on the table. "How long you gonna hide out over here?"

"Until I can figure out how to discourage them without hurting their feelings." Mark reseated himself and picked up his spoon. "Any ideas?"

Hardcastle sat down opposite him and took an orange from the bowl in the center of the table. "We could shoot 'em."

"Ho, ho," said Mark through a mouthful of Choccy-Crunch.

"Well, then you're gonna have to talk to 'em. Sit 'em down, man to airhead, and explain that they're causing problems. Not to mention corrupting the paper boy."

McCormick swallowed cereal. "Is that how they're getting past the gate every morning?"

"Yep. I hate to think what they're offering that poor boy."

"Probably zucchini bread. They're just _kids_, Judge." Mark waved his spoon at Hardcastle. "Yeah, yeah, they're old enough to be married in Alabama, but these are innocent rich kids who just want to ride around in a red sports car with an older guy because it makes them feel grown-up. Okay? It's harmless, Judge. A nuisance, yes, but harmless."

Hardcastle peeled his orange and shook his head. "If they're so all-fired innocent, why are they trespassing, bribing, stalking and being public nuisances? Yeah, I know it's all real gratifying to your ego, having some cute young things hanging on every word and making ya feel ten feet tall. But I'm telling ya, kiddo, this is trouble looking for a place to happen."

"Sordid, Judge. You're sordid and jaded." McCormick stood up to take his bowl back to the kitchenette. "But I'll talk to them this afternoon, okay? As soon as I get back from E.J.'s."

"You do that. But first, get that zucchini bread outta the house."

ooooo

"Ashley, you have to understand. I'm really, _really _flattered that you and your friends think I'm interesting and that you want to spend time with me and all, but Judge Hardcastle is starting to get a little, ah, _irritated_ at finding one of you at the house every morning." Mark paused, looking thoughtful. "Why is that, anyway? Why is it just one of you at a time, now? You always used to show up together."

"Well, see, it's the bet." Ashley twisted her hands together and smiled up at him shyly. "We have a kind of bet and Autumn won the first part."

"Oh, right. The dance. That was the bet about going a date, right?" McCormick frowned slightly. "That wasn't actually a date, you know."

"Oh, we counted it. You did take her there. Anyway," she ran a careful hand through her artfully wind-tossed hair, "we thought it would be fair to meet you one at a time. Because of the bet. See, if it's only one of us, then we're not, um . . . together. It's just one of us."

"Yeah, I got that. But look. I'm _so _much older than you are. And I don't have the best background in the world, either. I mean, you're all terrific people and I know you have great futures ahead of you, but I'm not going to be part of those futures. I've got a past that I'll never get away from. And you're so pretty, and sweet, and (he quickly ran through and discarded 'smart', 'rich' and 'charming') _outgoing_. You need a guy closer to your own age, someone who can take care of you and go through life with you, sharing the same experiences from the same perspective. You need a guy with a plan for the future and a way to get there. Maybe a college guy!" Mark assumed a forlorn, but not devastated, expression. "Ashley, it hurts me to say this, but it's time for us to back away and just be good friends from now on."

"Oh," she said, tiny tears glistening on her long, mascaraed lashes. "Oh." She blindly extended a pleading hand to him.

"Now, now." He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You have to be brave. It'll be so much easier for me if you're brave." With an excess of pity and sentiment, he placed a farewell kiss on the back of her hand, then dropped it and took a step backward.

Ashley stared at him through her tears, then brought the back of her hand up to her own lips. "Oh," she said, then turned and fled for the gate.

"How'd you think that went?" asked McCormick once she was out of earshot.

"It was _okay_, not brilliant," replied Hardcastle, standing out from behind the boxwood hedge.

"You think she'll tell the other A's? Maybe I should've asked her to do that." He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Nah. She'll tell 'em everything that happened, three or four times." The judge waved a hand at him. "Come on. Now you get to spread manure on the _garden_."

ooooo

McCormick yawned and stretched. "I'm beat. I'm going to bed."

"Aw, come on. The movie's almost over." The judge lowered the sound on the television a trifle. "Have some cookies or something. Help keep ya awake."

"Nah. I've only seen this one four times, Judge." He stood up and scratched idly at his stomach. "I'm just too sleepy to watch it all the way through again. Must be the lack of teenage companionship." He grinned. "It did seem to work. We haven't seen a blonde since this morning."

"Hallelujah," muttered Hardcastle, then raised his voice as Mark headed up the steps to the hall. "All right, go on. But remember we're getting those brake pads put on tomorrow, okay? Bright and early for breakfast."

"Yeah." McCormick stuck his head back for an instant. "And no zucchini bread."

The judge snorted. "G'night!"

"'Night, Judge!"

The front door slammed and Hardcastle punched the television volume back up.

Mark strolled over to the gatehouse, enjoying the slight breeze off the ocean and the myriad of stars visible in the velvet sky. He decided to shower in the morning, before breakfast, and headed into the bathroom for the nightly routine.

_What a relief_, he thought, brushing his teeth. _No more muffins for the sea gulls, no more monosyllabic conversation, no more hiding. No more girls hanging on every word, no more hero worship, no more admiring looks. Oh, well._

He climbed the stairs to the loft, yawning again, and kicked off his shoes. As he peeled his shirt over his head, he heard a tiny rustling sound and a sleepy blonde head appeared from under the blanket on his bed.

"_Yipe_!!" he said and ran for the stairs. "Judge! _Judge_! _Hardcastle_!! Get over here, _now_!"

McCormick met the judge in the middle of the driveway. Hardcastle waved the shotgun at him and yelled, "Which way did they go?!"

Mark grabbed his shoulders and yelled back, "It's one of _them_! In the _bed_! You gotta be my alibi, Judge! You know I was with you the whole time, _right_? I was only gone for _five minutes_!"

"Who? What?" Hardcastle suddenly calmed down and repeated, "One of _them_? In the _bed_?" He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a moment. "Are you telling me one of those _girls _is in there right now?"

"_Yes_! And you gotta testify that I wasn't there _with _her!" McCormick was still a little panicky, but no longer frantic.

The judge scowled ferociously at him. "Shaddup! And come with me!" He marched to the gatehouse door, then stopped suddenly and turned back to McCormick. "Is she decent?"

"How would _I _know?!"

"Okay!" bellowed Hardcastle through the open front door. "Get dressed and get down here _now_!" He stepped back onto the small porch and addressed Mark again. "Which one is it?"

"I dunno. Who's left? Amber? Gotta be Amber." McCormick took a deep breath and shook himself. "Judge, I swear to you I never --"

"Knock it off. I know what's going on. And where the hell's your shirt?"

A timid face peeped cautiously around the front door. "Hi," said Amber shyly. She was a picture of innocence in a frilly white kimono.

"Hi? _Hi_?" Judge Hardcastle motioned her to come out to the porch. "Is _that _all you have to say for yourself? _Hi_?"

"Um, hi, _sir_?" Amber looked up at the judge with an adorable little smile, but Hardcastle was _not_ buying it.

"Yeah, you just try pulling that damned pixie stuff on me, girlie. It's _not _gonna work! Now," he turned to McCormick, "you know where she lives? Good. Call a cab and tell 'em to come pick her up and take her there. Then, you stay in the house 'til the cab gets here. _You_," back to a somewhat chastened Amber, "back in the gatehouse _and _you can pay the cabdriver when you're home. Ya got that? _I _am gonna be standing right here between the two of you, so you can forget any more funny business for tonight. Now, any questions?"

Mark was already on his way to the main house. Amber sighed, then pouted charmingly. "You're mean!" she declared, then flounced back into the gatehouse living room.

"Damn straight," muttered the judge fiercely.

ooooo

"Judge, I just can't tell you how sorry I am about all this." Mark stirred his coffee morosely. "I had no idea they were going to act like crazy people. They seemed so . . . so _normal_."

Hardcastle snorted, then reached for more toast. "Normal, huh? Because they liked listening to your racing stories?"

"No! Because they just seemed like your basic average high school kids. Average grades, average intelligence --"

The judge snorted again.

"No, really. I thought they were just interested in impressing their friends by spending some time with an older guy with a snazzy car." Mark looked at the toast, but decided he really wasn't hungry. "I guess I shouldn't have gotten involved with them at all."

"Um-hmm." Hardcastle chewed his toast and swallowed. "You shouldn't have _encouraged _them, that's for damn sure."

McCormick fidgeted with his spoon. "I didn't exactly encourage them. It was just nice to have somebody who was interested in the things that matter to me." He made a face and shook his head. "That's not it." He sighed disconsolantly. "I just wanted somebody I could brag to a little, that's all. Somebody to be a little bit impressed." He slouched back in his chair, staring at his coffee mug.

"Well," the judge considered him, "you're only human. It's human nature to want to impress people, I guess. Might be better if you tried to impress people with functioning brains next time."

"Oh, yeah, sure. There's lots of people out there who want to hear a has-been driver's stories. Thanks, anyway, Judge." Mark finally took one sip of his tepid coffee, then stood up. "I'm gonna get started on the driveway." He trudged off, then turned back to the table again. "Ah, yeah. I really _did _appreciate you coming to the rescue last night."

"Hah! It's pretty unusual for the dragon to rescue the knight from the fair maiden, wouldn't you say?" Judge Hardcastle took another piece of bacon to go with his last slice of toast.

After Mark hosed the leaves off the driveway, he raked the small lawn around the gatehouse. Just as he had nearly finished, a recent-model Volvo drove through the gate up the drive to the fountain, where it stopped and beeped its horn stridently.

A husky man in a camel-colored sweater pushed his way out of the car and slammed its door behind him. "Hey!" he yelled across to McCormick. "Who're you?"

At that point, the judge opened the front door of the main house and yelled back, "Well, who're _you_?"

"I'm Sanford Thompson," the husky man answered belligerently, "and I want Mark McCormick! Is that him?" He pointed at Mark.

"Maybe," said Hardcastle defiantly. "It depends on what you want him for." He walked down the steps and confronted Thompson. "You wanna fill me in on why you're here?"

Mark came reluctantly across the drive to stand behind the judge. "I bet I can guess," he muttered.

"Yeah, I bet you can," Thompson snarled. "My daughter --"

"Yep," murmured McCormick.

"Told me this morning that you . . . you . . . _seduced _her last night! What do you have to say to that?" Thompson edged closer and glared over the judge's shoulder at Mark.

"Okay, back off and let me tell ya what's been going on here." Hardcastle gave him a relatively gentle shove. "If your daughter's name is Amber --"

"Her _name's _Eileen; she _calls_ herself _Amber _and I want to know what that . . . that piece of slime --"

"Fine. She, Eileen or Amber or whoever, _was _here last night, but," the judge held up a hand, palm outward, "I can assure you nothing happened. See, McCormick found her in his bed --"

"_What_?!" Thompson turned bright red and his eyes bulged alarmingly. "She . . . _you _. . ." He gulped in a lungful of air and swung his right fist straight at Mark.

McCormick ducked, stepped sideways, looked heavenward. "Why me?" he implored. "What did _I _ever do?"

Hardcastle grabbed the front of Thompson's sweater and shoved him backwards onto the hood of the Volvo. "Are you _crazy?_" he shouted. "You come onto _my_ property, issue implied _threats_ and then commit _assault_ on my . . . on my . . ." He gestured toward McCormick.

"Handyman?" suggested Mark. "Pool guy? Buddy, companion, pal? Assistant, sidekick, underling, factotum, wage slave --"

"_Driveway_," said the judge definitively.

Thompson pushed himself upright and opened his mouth, but Hardcastle stuck a finger in his face. "Not one more word. I have had _enough _of this situation!" he said coldly. "Now,_ listen_ to me and get this _straight_. McCormick never touched your daughter, or any of her ditzy little friends and they are not allowed on my property as of now. If I see one blonde hair or hear one girlish giggle, I'm calling the cops. Now you take that back to Eileen/Amber/whatever her name is and if I see _you _on my property again, I'll nail your hide to my living room wall. Got that? Good. Now, _git_!"

"Um, maybe I misunderstood." Thompson sidled to the driver-side door of his car. "It's possible that, ah, Eileen may have exaggerated the circumstance, I suppose." He opened the car and climbed in. "But I distinctly heard the Anderson girl say that he --" he pointed at McCormick, "had kissed her. So I assumed --"

Mark groaned. "Her _hand_. I kissed her _hand_ when I told her not to come around here any more." He turned to the judge. "You see? You see what happens when I try to be a gentleman? I should've just kicked her out and told her it was on your orders." He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "That was the second part of the bet, right? A kiss. And last night was the third part." He groaned again. "Sweet, innocent little girls. _Damn_."

Thompson started his car engine and leaned out of the window. "I don't think we need to make any more out of this, do we? It was all just a misundertanding. No need for anyone else to know about it, is there?"

"You scram, or I'll call your wife and tell her where you are and what a jackass you've been." Hardcastle motioned to Mark. "You, into the house. Time we had a little talk about stuff." He led the way up the front steps as Thompson took off, tires screeching.

McCormick winced and ruefully followed the judge into the house.

"Look," he started as soon as the door had slammed shut behind him, "I'm really sorry about --"

"No!" Hardcastle pointed a finger at him threateningly. "You're _not _sorry. There's no _reason_ for youto be sorry, ya got that?" He sat heavily behind the desk and waved McCormick to his chair. "None of this is your fault . . . well, very little, anyway." The judge drummed his fingers on the desktop in exasperation, brow furrowed.

Mark waited a minute, then offered quietly, "But I can be sorry it all happened."

Hardcastle grunted at him.

"And I did kinda cause the whole mess by bragging to those dips in the first place." He sighed. "You're always preaching responsibility, Judge. What makes this different?"

"E.J. called while you were hosing down the driveway." The judge scratched an ear thoughtfully. "Said that teacher guy had left a racing magazine there yesterday, the one he'd had E.J. autograph for him." He held up a hand as McCormick started to speak. "He's gonna drop it by here sometime next week."

Mark looked at Hardcastle quizzically. "Okay."

The judge took a deep breath and said slowly, "He also told me he was trying to talk you into getting back into racing." He stared straight ahead. "Thought you'd have a real shot at winning a few. But you told him I didn't want you involved in that any more. That I disapproved of the whole thing . . . the time spent away from doing something 'constructive', the risk, the whole deal." He finally looked at Mark, who immediately dropped his eyes. "You really tell him that?"

"Um, yeah. I probably said something like that." McCormick shrugged. "It's over, Judge. I had a shot, I blew it, now I'm doing something else."

"But you still feel like it's incomplete or something, don't ya? Like you never really found out how good you could be?" Hardcastle swiped at his nose. "And you got all this experience, a big part of your life, that you just kinda put in a box under the bed. Don't ya want another chance at that? Wouldn't you like another shot at racing?"

Mark sat silently for a short while, then looked up at the judge. "Are you telling me you wouldn't mind? That it would be okay with you if I ran a few races every year, took time away from my chores to travel and practice and work on getting the Coyote into racing form?"

"Well, yeah. I guess that's what I'm saying. 'Course, I'd want some say in how often you're away. We got stuff going on here that's pretty important, ya know. I don't want ya to lose sight of what _we're_ doing." Hardcastle cleared his throat loudly. "So, whaddya think? You gonna go for this race E.J. was telling me about? He said he's got a ride for you all lined up."

"You sure about this now?" McCormick gazed at the judge seriously. "You know what it involves. It's a real commitment, Judge."

"Don't see why it would be a problem." Judge Hardcastle shrugged lightly. "We can work around anything that comes up."

Mark smiled, then thesmile became a grin. "You're sure?"

Hardcastle nodded.

"Then, how about going along for the one E.J.'s talking about? I'd use his pit crew, but it'd be nice to have someone along as a cheering section." Mark raised his eyebrows hopefully.

"Sure! You can tell me about that race in Nashville when you lost by a bumper." The judge smiled back at him. "What this race we're going to called again?"

McCormick leaned his head against the back of the chair contentedly. "The Arizona Modifieds."

ooooo

"Okay, we're pretty well organized now." Hardcastle checked his list again. "We got the registration filed and E.J.'s arranging to transport the car. We've got the crew booked and Mrs. Hendry's gonna keep an eye on the garden while we're gone."

McCormick nodded, passing the potato salad to the judge. "Here. Yeah, and I can arrange for practice laps once we're there. Oh! I didn't tell you who I ran into in town this morning – Eileen."

The judge looked blank.

"Eileen. _Amber_, remember?" Mark grinned at Hardcastle's expression of distaste. "She said she's going by Eileen now and apologized very nicely for causing us any trouble. Apparently her mother had a little talk with her about how far you can go to win a bet, and she really _did _seem like she was sorry."

"Huh." Hardcastle spooned potato salad onto his plate. "I'll believe that when pigs fly."

Mark cupped a hand to his ear and looked skyward. "Did I just hear an oink?"

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe. Just try to stay away from 'em on general principles, okay? Dammit, why do people always call at lunch?" Hardcastle reached for the phone. "Hello! . . . Aggie! How are you?"

McCormick smiled and took another bite of his sandwich.

"Yeah, I picked it out myself," said Hardcastle smugly. "Glad you liked it." His eyes suddenly narrowed. "What poem inside?" He looked at Mark suspiciously. "What? It said 'all your _seventy years'_?"

Mark picked up his plate in one hand, waved good-bye to the judge with the other and walked swiftly up the drive and around the corner of the garage. Life was good.

Finis


End file.
